Fighting For Love

By S.E. Roberts

Ripley has dealt with plenty of jerks in the past. So when she meets her new coach, who refuses to work with her, she knows she'll have a fight on her hands… in more ways than one. Even if he is the sexiest man she's ever seen, she won't let anyone treat her less than the fighter she is. But is there more to Ezra Cowen than meets the eye?

Ezra moved to Palm Meadows to escape the ghosts of his past. Now he works all day for his uncle and goes home every night to an empty apartment. But when he meets his new neighbor, he feels a spark between the two of them… at least until he finds out who she is. She's mouthy and doesn't take no for an answer, which may be just what he needs.

Can two people who thought they'd never find happiness find it with each other? Despite their rocky start, can they learn that love is worth fighting for?

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.E. Roberts
• Release date: Jul 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201529741

Book preview

1

RIPLEY

Here you are, miss. My Uber driver pulls me out of my thoughts as he parks in front of what will be my home for at least the next year.

The building is covered in a soft yellow stucco and gives off a western vibe. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen back in Boston.

Thank you. I push my door open and climb out before making my way to the trunk to retrieve my suitcase.

I slam the hatch down, and in the next second, the gray sedan speeds away from the curb, leaving me alone. I take a deep breath as I rub my sweaty palms on my yoga pants. I don’t know why I’m so nervous right now. Although, in my twenty-five years, I’ve never lived on my own, and now I’m clear across the country from everyone I know.

I take in my surroundings as I stand on the sidewalk, noticing the countless palm trees and the rainbow of flowers that surround the walkway leading to the front door. There’s a brick archway that only makes this place look more expensive. If it weren’t for my inheritance from my grandfather, I wouldn’t be living here.

I pull my luggage through the entrance and stop at the front desk.

Hi, I’m Ripley Stephens. I’m moving in and was told to come here for my key.

The petite blonde hardly looks up from her computer as she types away what I’m assuming is my name.

Yes, Ms. Stephens. She hands me an envelope and a welcome pamphlet. Your apartment is on the fourth floor, and the elevator is straight ahead.

My tennis shoes squeak as I cross the foyer, making my way to the elevator. There’s no one else around, but I’m sure if there was, I’d get some funny looks for the way I’m dressed. This place has a snooty vibe, and I’m honestly surprised there isn’t a dress code.

I push the up button and wait for a car to arrive. After what feels like forever, I step on, and in mere seconds, it’s stopping on the fourth floor. According to the wall in the elevator, there are twenty-seven floors which is absolutely insane.

I step off and look straight ahead at the sign on the wall and see that my apartment is to the right. The wheels on my suitcase hit the tiles, causing an echo to vibrate through the hallway. My phone goes off in my purse that is slung over my shoulder. I blindly reach for the zipper, trying to search for it before the call goes to voicemail. I have a feeling my sister is calling to make sure I made it.

I can’t feel the dumb thing because this bag has way too much crap in it, so I stop in the middle of the hall to dig it out.

Shit, I missed her.

The next thing I know, I’m being knocked to my ass and I have no idea what just hit me. A wet tongue assaults my face. What the hell?

Vader, stop!

Once I’m finally able to get back on my feet, I look to my left where the husky voice came from. There stands a man probably around six foot five and about two hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle. He’s got dark hair that’s shaved close to his scalp, a chiseled jaw with a five-o’clock shadow adorning his face. He’s shirtless with black mesh shorts. He’s got a freaking six-pack that would drive any woman crazy. My God, he’s beautiful. I mentally slap myself for having those thoughts. I haven’t let my mind stray like that since… Shit.

Are you okay?

The stranger makes his way toward me, concern covering his face. It’s then I realize that my mouth is nearly hitting the floor, and is that drool dripping down my chin?

I shake my head. Yeah, I’m totally fine. Then a giggle slips through my lips. Your dog’s name is Vader? I then see said dog making his way back into the door he came out of before mauling me.

He arches an eyebrow at me. "Don’t tell me you’re not a Star Wars fan?" A slight grin passes his lips, making him look even more delicious.

It’s not my thing. I grab the handle on my suitcase, suddenly embarrassed after being knocked on my ass in front of this man. Well, this is me. I point to the door to my right that says 414.

Damn, you wound me. He grabs for his chest and nods. Sorry about my dog. He’s not usually so rambunctious.

I insert my keycard into the handle.

Don’t sweat it. I give him a small smile as I push my door open. See you around.

Sure thing. I hear him say before I lock the door behind me. I lean against it, and I’m thankful for the support as my legs feel like they could give out on me at any moment. I never, I mean never, let a man fluster me like that.

The apartment is dark besides a sliver of light that peeks through the curtains, so I feel along the wall and find the switch. For as much as I’m paying, this looks like a Cracker Jack box, but it’ll do for now. It’s, of course, empty except for the furniture that came with it. There’s a sleek, black leather couch along the far wall, a matching recliner, and a glass coffee table that sits in the middle of the room. The walls are painted a soft gray color. It’s very modern looking, but gives off a homey vibe. I shipped the few things I wanted to bring with me so I would have a little piece of home with me.

I walk down a short hallway and find the kitchen off to the right, and it doesn’t surprise me when I see all the stainless steel appliances. I’ve never lived in something so nice. My waitressing job in Boston didn’t allow me to have anything fancy, but I’ve always been able to get by. I’ve spent the last couple years saving up for this move, knowing I’ll be strapped for cash, at least for a while. I’ve always been one to dream big, but I also try to be realistic.

I finish my tour of the small space and then find the tiny bathroom after digging my soap and shampoo out of my bag. I quickly strip out of my yoga pants and razor-back tank top. Chances are I’m going to get all sweaty again if I work out this afternoon, but I don’t want to scare my new coach away because I smell like dead fish.

I started amateur MMA fighting about five years ago. I was a junior in college, planning to become a teacher. The year before had been the worst of my life, and I was barely passing my classes. My biology partner was big into fighting and was a trainer at one of our local gyms. It took some convincing on his part, but I eventually agreed to let him train me. I started it as a way to learn self-defense, but it soon became my life. Needless to say, my family was not thrilled with the idea